The Hope
by Rurouni-Wolf
Summary: She's the new girl in school, determined to dig out the dirt on Chapman for a project of hers. Unfortunately, she's also absolutely insane. If you want something completely different than the usual newgirlinAnimorphs fic, try this. Read at your own risk.


Hallelujah and glory-be, the ruler works again. Ahh, all is right in the world and I am absurdly happy w/ this story because it's everything I've never written before and it's _so much fun_ to write. I can be everything I'm not but who everyone _wants_ to be, and... well... I hope you get as big of a kick outta this story as much as I did writing it. Been sitting around on my laptop, ignored while I devoted myself to my Naruto fics--shameless self-promotion, right here--but... it's hilarious.

To me, at least. Hopefully to you guys too, but even if it's not "scintillating", then I'm still updating. :D Either way, you guys are stuck with me, and to warn: no plot for this one, as per usual, writing it on the fly. Timeline's post-David, a few books after, but pre anything too major.

Will I be messing things up royally?

Yes. Yes, I will. And loving it.

Disclaimer: "Ami" and "Sou" are the only ones owned by me, as is this story. Why anyone would want to actually _steal_ any one of these is beyond me, but hey, so's the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. Go fig. Anything licensed is owned by the lincensee. GO READ THE BOOKS. Spoilers, horrible characterization, and utter insanity abound past this point.

Final warning: Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. Ye shall die laughing.

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**_The Hope_**

I was happy once.

I mean, it's not like I was ever very important. Average (except when it came to intelligence, I am proud to say that Einstein's Theory of Relativity is really very simple—even though I hate, abhor, etc. math—except when it comes to money), even boringly so.

Except that I have an unnatural instinct to protect.

Yeah, you've all met people like me all the time—the ones who're always getting into fights with the bullies, who are constantly battling the "cool" kids with attitude problems ('cause I've met some pretty awesome "cool" kids, too).

Protectors.

It's just this freakishly strong instinct we're born with; it's like we switch over to automatic whenever someone's getting picked on—especially if they can't take care of themselves. You know—the weak of society: elderly, kids, animals, the mentally, emotionally, and physically fragile of this fallen world.

Sorry.

I tend to deal heavy in the angst, sometimes.

Which is completely, _totally_ at odds with my usual "hey, everything's gonna be alright, so let's be happy!" personality; and that's good, because joy must be balanced with deep thoughts and even a good dose of sarcastic cynicism.

Of which I am the queen of.

No, seriously. I was voted, "Most likely to Rule the World Sarcastically".

Sad, isn't it?

Still, I just love my little minions.

Anyways, we had just moved into this part of town even though I'd lived here for ages, and besides my part-time job, I was enrolled in the public high school. Not so much as a student (I'd graduated a year prior, since I was home-schooled I just buckled down, didn't take breaks, and was now _years_ ahead of my peers), but kind of as an observer.

See, I was trying to prove a theory of mine. Wherever there is a large scale organization, there is corruption. Doesn't necessarily mean the network itself is corrupt, just that some of its members are.

My target was The Sharing.

If ever there was some freakish cult that needed to go down, there ya go. My mom thought it was this wonderfully, family-friendly Boy/Girl/Family Scout thing, but I personally was creeped out. I mean, any thing where you go in completely whacked out and come out all perfect screams "CULT!"

Yes, I did warn you about my cynicism.

Anyways, so here I was, 17-ish, back in high school (dear God preserve us...) on an assignment to study the life of Vice-Principal Chapman.

"Heeeeey... you're cute," a boy came up to me, leaning against the adjacent locker.

Ooohhhh... _right_... bet he couldn't even _spell_ adjacent...

"Heeeeey... you just noticed?" I drawled sarcastically.

"Man, you're a--"

"Yes. Yes, I am. I am also a violent 'a', too, so shoo."

"Ooh, Jake, I just _love_ a strong woman," another boy came up, joking.

"You look a little _old_ to be in high school," a girl had come up, pretty and beautiful and everything I'm not (no, no jealousy there, no siree Bob.)

"I got held back for putting a kid into the hospital."

"So?" the (admittedly cute) short boy asked.

Well, short to everyone else. Tall to me.

So I'm short. I can still out talk everyone in this school, nerds included.

I tend to have a rather high regard for myself.

"Intensive Care."

He winced.

I gave him my patented "snarky" grin (half-shark, half-serial killer) and he grinned back.

"It looks like there's a girl tougher than you now, Rach."

"Impossible!" the blonde joked.

Our eyes met.

"Ami," I introduced myself, remembering my code-name.

I know. _Ami_.

Sucks, right?

(No offense, I _love_ the name Ami—blame Sailor Moon for that—but it couldn't be something exotic like—like—I don't know, Aura Rochester, or Chihiro Tsukihara or something!)

"Hi, Ami! I am Marco the Wanted One--"

"I'm sure the principal just _loves_ seeing you in his office every week," I drawled.

"You're right, Marco, I like her already."

Rolling my eyes, I pretended to seriously inspect my shoes for a brief moment (were those _scuff_ marks? I just bought these!) and sighed when I realized that they weren't going to go away.

Yay. Lucky me.

Please note the incredible, all-destroying sarcasm of that statement.

"Great. Are we supposed to best pals after this _wonderfully enlightening_ conversation? Go shopping and giggle over boys together?" I asked cuttingly.

Remember, I did say I was an 'a'. You _were_ warned.

"Um... Ami, Jake an' me are _guys._"

"Like I said," I gave him my snarky grin, "are we supposed to giggle over boys together now?"

Rachel snorted behind her hand.

Somehow, of course, her hair fell perfectly around her face—her tall willowy figure pulling off a pair of jeans that would've made me look even _shorter_ and... well-fed... and a shirt that there was no way I could _ever_ wear without a head injury.

Of _course_ I'm not jealous. Who would be?

--coughanysanegirlcoughcough--

ANYWAYS...

"Yeah, I _definitely_ like this girl."

I couldn't help but grin; maybe under all that perfectly applied light makeup (she didn't need it—her complexion was freakin' _perfect_) there was a kindred spirit.

Slamming my locker door shut, somehow avoiding getting my hair/appendages caught, I sighed as I saw a kid from the grade above (DIE EVIL BULLY!) harassing some poor freshmeat.

Er... freshman.

"Excuse me, groupies," I muttered, marching over.

"--and I'll turn your face into lunchmeat if I see you makin' eyes at my girlfriend again!"

... 'makin' eyes'? Good grief, what _decade_ was this guy _from_?

I coughed politely.

I was ignored.

I cleared my throat.

Again, ignored.

Note: chivalry really _is_ dead.

"Pardon me," I asked in my sweetest tone possible.

A dentist's dream, let me assure you.

"Whadda ya want?" the bully all but snarled.

Oh, dear me, it seems like a big ol' mean _man_ is talking to li'l ol' me!

I _live_ for moments like these.

"I think that's my locker," I replied cheerfully.

(Warning: SMILE CAN LEAD TO SUNBURNS! ALWAYS WEAR SUNSCREEN!)

His dim, beady little eyes squinted at me, trying to find a dent in my armor (hah! Better men than you have tried, my _leedle friend_!) and uneasily shifted on his big, stinky feet.

Aw. The prey's already sensed me.

Darn.

"What's the combination?" I asked the victim.

"Uh... 90210," he stammered out.

I raised an eyebrow in disbelief; I can _see_ why this... _specimen_... would get bullied.

Twisting the combination-lock (CURSE YOU!), the bully seemed to finally realize that I was interrupting him.

"Hey, _little girl_, leave your boyfriend alone, will ya?"

... _b-b-boyfriend?_

Excuse the hysterical laughter.

After I'd _finally_ got my breathing control, ol' big and meaty was seeing red. He lunged for me, and I clicked the lock open.

Hitting him square in the face with the _solid metal locker door_, knocking him out cold.

"Oh, my mistake. It's not my locker after all!" I gave the victims a mild, vaguely perky grin and wandered off to my _own_ locker with the satisfied glow I dearly loved.

Because, in the end, it really _is_ all about me.

Rachel was clutching her sides in hysterics, Jake had an eyebrow raised, some girl had wandered over trying not to grin, and Marco looked slightly...

... slightly...

Well, the look that most sane people give me right before I--

"You planned that," he grinned slowly.

Was I willing to admit that this was a _Very Cute Guy_?

Yes. Yes, I was.

"What, that?" I asked innocently, a halo practically forming over my head.

Kukukuku! (get your own evil laugh!) (I ripped mine from Orochimaru. What's your excuse?)

Pulling out one of my _favorite_ books, I headed off to 'study hall', otherwise known as 'let's blow this period!' Ahh, such simple pleasures are all I require: a good book, a little peace and quiet, tons of money and a bit of carnage now and then... who could ask for more?

... we'll ignore the little voice in my head screaming about a few male anime characters for the moment...

"Oooh," I murmured, drawn over to the display case.

The card read that it was supposedly some ancient, priceless artifact recently discovered on the backside of the planet.

Right. They're putting a _priceless artifact_ in the library of a _public high school_.

Can anyone say _copy_?

Still, it was a strange little thing, carved with—I squinted at the runes—an alphabet I'd never seen before. It wasn't Roman, Greek, Hebrew, Macedonian, Celtic, ancient Briton, Japanese, Chinese, or any of the other languages I'd studied.

Hate me yet? Don't worry, you will eventually.

It bugged me. It _really, really_ bugged me.

What do I do when presented with something I can't figure out?

And the resounding shout of "RESEARCH!" echoes across the wastelands of wherever your pitiful little self is reading this.

I'm not insulting. I'm just honest.

I made sure no one was looking, and took a picture of it with a cheap, disposable camera, making sure the flash wasn't on. I took a few more, then slipped it into my purse for further research.

Oops. Just now remembered the security cameras probably caught everything. Oh well, a genius can't remember every insignificant little detail.

So I use the word 'little' a lot. Deal with it. I _am_ little, so there. Nyah.

Then again, four history geeks came up and snapped photos too, so I figure I'm good. After all, I can own it off of, sniffles, "trying to fit in and keep up with the school's standard of academic excellence."

Principals are suckers for that kind of stuff.

The irritating/_Very Cute Guy_ sat himself in front of me at the library table that I was idly considering could be a good place for triage or to lay cadavers.

The wonders of the macabre!

"And what is a girl like you doing in a nice library like this?"

"Currently? Thinking over the similarities between a library table and morgue slabs."

Why does no one ever take me seriously when I tell them what I'm really thinking?

"O-kay. Do you like videogames?" he whispered conspiratorially.

Which was good, the whispering I mean, because a stiff, "it's-_my_-library" librarian walked by.

And they say _I_ have ego issues.

Insert wide, slightly manic grin here.

"Hmm. Depends. I prefer anime vgs, like the .hack or Naruto games, or Zoids, but I'm not immune to a little mindless carnage or—even better!--Final Fantasy games. Auron..." I sighed dreamily.

He stared at me warily, as most of the peon masses are wont to do, and I smiled blandly back.

"Um... ok. You're insane, you know that?"

I purred silkily, all feminine sensuality and the forbidden, and put my index finger under his chin, closing his mouth which had, by this time, popped open of its own accord.

Ah, feel the power...

"And you know," I whispered huskily, "that you just _love _it, naughty boy."

Sliding back, his shocked and dazed expression perfectly feeding my ego, I proceeded to ignore him and divulge in my _most favorite book_.

"_Arsenic Smiles_?" he read the title.

I shrugged; so I'd been having somewhat of a tiring day when I decided on the title. So sue me.

Try it, and I'll bleed you of every wooden penny.

"Written by... Fox?" he lifted an eyebrow at the penname.

Sly, cunning, reputed to have magical powers, mischievous, and deadly.

And small.

Really, what better animal could fit moi?

"So... what's it about?"

Hmm... how _does_ one describe the literary masterpiece of the millennium?

"It's a vampire story. A _very, very dark_ vampire story."

He looked either slightly interested, or slightly like he was about to run screaming off in the other direction.

Either one works for me.

"Did you just move here? 'Cause I would've remembered someone as pretty and cute as you," he grinned charmingly at me.

Damn it, he was pulling it off, too.

I settled for a snort.

"Right. And I would've remembered someone unique like you, too."

He rolled his eyes, while I gave him a placid, totally nonthreatening smile that should have had him running in the other direction by now.

I mean, _really_. He's known me this long, why does he seem to think that this is a _good_ thing?

Ignoring him for the rest of the period and indulging myself in the jewel of the literary world (the characters! The plot! The violence!) I noticed one guy watching me. Seeing that he seemed to be a senior (gag me right there... he looked suspiciously like—wait, he _was_ a guy I'd seen around The Sharing, great a pathetic little _do-gooder_... _the horror_...) I ignored him, too.

I am very, very good at ignoring people.

... oh, I'm sorry, were you trying to say something?

"Would you like to go out with me?" a guy sat down next to me.

Deigning to glance at him from the corner of my eye, I nearly shrieked.

"YOU!"

Ok, so I _did_ shriek. Shoo.

"Geez, _you're_ as pleasant as ever," he muttered.

The pain in my ass, the thorn in my side, the absolute _bane_ of my existence...

My best friend.

"_What_ are _you_ doing _here_?" I hissed, grabbing him by the collar.

He goes through a lot of shirts that way.

"Because _someone_ needs to keep an eye on you, you freakin' psychopath, and I'm the only one who's not terrified of you."

I huffed, crossing my arms and fixing him with my most deadliest gaze.

Oh, yes, _feel_ the lasers.

"But—but—_Soujiro_!"

"Relax, _Ami_," he rolled his eyes.

Now, his real name is not Soujiro. Me, however, being mildly obsessed with the Rurouni Kenshin character quite aways back (which is putting it mildly—the obsession, I mean) could spot immediate similarities. For one thing, he's got a messed up family. Two, he _constantly_ smiles, which scares the crap outta people (and how we became friends in the first place.) And three?

He freakin' _looks_ like Seta Soujiro—Japanese and everything.

Eventually, he just took it as his name, and we've been buds ever since. Since, as he puts it, I'm more like a deranged serial killer than a girl, it's a platonic friendship that's been a shield for our more overzealous fanatics over the years.

So, _Very Cute Guy_ is now glaring at Sou-kun—oh, how sweet, remind me to kill him later because _no one_ glares at Sou-kun like that except _me—_and I sling an arm around Sou's slim waist (he's leaner-built than I am, a fact that annoys and irritates me to no end, I assure you) and snuggle up suggestively.

"Why don't you try a threesome sometime, dear?"

His jaw drops _again_ (oh my, I must be improving... usually it took a little more—oh, wait, this _is_ high school after all) and I roll my eyes.

"Remind me to inform your poor, underpaid educational instructors that their students have the mind equivalent IQ of a mentally-challenged bovine," I muttered.

"Be nice," Soujiro warned.

Note: he's smiling vacantly. _Always_. Yeah... get a good image of that in your head.

And people think _I'm_ crazy. At least I'm _honest_ over it—I don't hide it behind 'angelic schoolboy charm' persona.

I sighed dramatically. Some people just don't appreciate the finer art of insults.

Or the insult of finer arts. Whatever works.

_Very Cute Guy_ scowled one last time at Sou-kun and then tossed a piece of paper with his email scribbled on there.

Ohhh... he has entered my domain.

Kukukuku!

The hunt beg—

"I know that gleam in your eye, _Ami-_chan," he warned.

I leaned up and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek, the kind that I knew drove him crazy because he _oh so secretly_ **_like_**-liked me as more than just a _friend_.

Psh. I'm a girl. I _know_ these things.

Blushing lightly and looking slightly flustered, (only slightly? Darn, he must be getting immune to those, I'll have to start something new...) he sighed deeply and wrapped his arm around me, resting his chin on the top of my head.

Note: Sou's a whopping 5'3". Do the math to figure out how tall I am.

... ok, there's _twelve inches_ in a foot, so multiply that—you know, what the little 'x' button is on your calculator, the one you always thought meant—

... I give up. Pretend like you know and we'll end it here for today.

World domination is tiring, after all.

Until later.

_The –th of –, 200-._


End file.
